Eclectic much?
Mood:  cool
Topic: grace notes

For Valentine's Day Jason gave me an iTunes gift card.  So I fired up the iTunes store, and on the home page found the section "Just For You."  These are recommendations made by iTunes based on our past purchases.  The list is, shall we say, varied: 

• Feel Good Inc., 3:41, by Gorillaz, album Demon Days, genre Alternative
• I Write Sins Not Tragedies, 3:06, Panic! At the Disco, album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, genre Alternative
• Today, 3:19, Smashing Pumpkins, album Siamese Dream, genre Alternative
• Zadok the Priest (Coronation Anthem No. 1, HWV 258), 6:07, Choir of King's College, Cambridge, English Chamber Orchestra, Sir David Willcocks & Thurston Dart, album Haydn: Nelson Mass - Vivaldi: Gloria in D - Handel: Zadok the Priest, genre Classical
• As Long As The Bottle's Full (Album version), 2:11, Dale Watson, album Texas Unplugged, Vol. 2, genre Country
• I've Been Everywhere, 2:45, Hank Snow, album The Essential Hank Snow, genre Country
• Midwinter, 8:10, Gary Stadler and Wendy Rule & Gary Stadler, album Deep Within A Faërie Forest, genre Folk
• Like Whoa, 2:30, Aly & AJ, album Insomniatic, genre Pop
• Drivin' My Life Away, 3:17, Eddie Rabbit, album Original Artist Hit List: Eddie Rabbit, genre Pop
• Carry On Wayward Son, 5:23, Kansas, album The Best of Kansas, genre Rock
• One of Them Days, 3:27, Loverboy, album Just Getting Started, genre Rock
• In The Summertime, 3:32, Mungo Jerry, album The Very Best of Mungo Jerry, genre Rock
• The Real Me, 3:20, The Who, album Quadrophenia (Remastered), genre Rock
• Xing Chuan de Ren, 3:48, Varied Artists, album Zhen Bian Shu Qing, genre Folk
• Walking to New Orleans, 2:00, Fats Domino, album Walking to New Orleans: 100 Legendary Imperial Recordings 1942-1969, album R&B/Soul
• Piano Concerto No. 20 in D Minor, K. 466 III. Rondo (Allegro Assai), 6:21, London Symphony Orchestra, Sir Colin Davis & Stephen Kovacevich, album Mozart For Your Mind, genre Classical

(Dear Readers, is it a sign of Split Personality Disorder that Zhen Bian Shu Qing should appear just before Fats Domino?)

Cantata shopping
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: grace notes

It's July and my kids are swimming in their kiddie pool, the garden looks jungle-ish, the grill is in heavy use, and I'm picking out Christmas music.  You heard me correctly.  I think I might be on to why "Christmas in July" is a popular novelty.  It's because church choir directors everywhere (shut up, we ARE controlling popular opinion, I'm certain) are spending this month reviewing countless renditions of the Christmas story as put to music, so that the chosen selection may be ordered and delivered in time for the first fall rehearsal.  No seriously, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only pragmatic....um, nevermind.

So I'm reading through a bunch of choral Christmas programs, commonly called cantatas in that they are a series of choral movements with instrumental accompaniment.  That the watered-down hymn tunes popular in today's "cantatas" bear the same musical title as the deep and powerful works of J. S. Bach, G. F. Handel, and Henry Purcell tends to stick in my craw, but my attempts to waylay the terminology by speaking of the choir's Christmas program have always resulted in someone saying, "You mean the Christmas cantata?"  And so cantata it is.

Regardless of what I call it, it takes a lot of preparation on the part of the choir.  And so I sit down every July and go through a stack of music samples and narrow it down to a responsible choice.  This year it's proving no easy task.  Allow me, Dear Readers, to summarize for you now what seems to make up the typical Christmas cantata:

1.  The bit will start with a narration underscored by some tinkly, high-octave piano music.  As the narration progresses, the piano music will move into a moody minor stretch in which appear many accidentals, typically flats.

2.  The piano music will pick up its pace, and as the narrator tapers off, the choir begins its opening number.  This almost always involves some version of "how happy we all should be that it's Christmas" and smacks of Jingle Bells.

3.  The next song will be, without fail, O Come Emmanuel.

4.  The song after that will be, without fail, something terribly British, evoking (I guess) the image of a Dickens novel.

5.  Then we have Mary being told she is the chosen one, and a song about how freaked out that makes her, but how wonderfully blessed everyone thinks she is.  (Note:  That blessed part is something that could only have been said two thousand years in hindsight, is it not?  Seriously, if *I* went around telling everyone I was bearing the child of God, how many people would be blessing and how many people would be dialing the nearest psychiatrist?)

6.  After Mary gives birth in the stable, always in the middle of the night in a blizzard even though Bethlehem is the wrong climate, the choir sings a lullaby in which the text mainly insists that the baby sleep.  A lot.  I have yet to see a Christmas carol which encourages the baby Jesus to stay alert and actually take in the sights.  No, instead we have the most wondrous event ever, and everyone is standing around shushing each other.  And shushing GOD incarnate.  Think about it.  Would YOU shush God incarnate?

7.  Next, the shepherds and wise men will come marching in on something in D minor with lots of open fifths.  You know, fake Oriental music.

8.  The final number of every Christmas cantata is O Come All Ye Faithful.  And the congregation is always told to stand and sing along.  I have never, ever seen a cantata end with any of the following:  Bring A Torch, Jeannette, Isabella, In the Bleak Midwinter, The Coventry Carol, or Baloo Loo, Lammy.  I did once direct a cantata in which the closing number was Hark The Herald Angels Sing, but then it changed keys and became, ultimately, O Come All Ye Faithful.

So there you have it:  If you are looking to attend the choir's Christmas "program" this December, I have just spared you the effort.  As for me, it becomes a dull task of sorting through the mundane, looking for a hint of originality.  Unfortunately, so far the only original bit I've found this far came in the form of a footnote.  And that footnote alone, Dear Readers, was the basis for my rejecting the entire cantata, as well as the renewed will in me to go back to calling these things what they are:  PROGRAMS, people.  Christmas PROGRAMS.  My apologies, too, Mr. Handel.

Heart Music
Mood:  lyrical
Now Playing: Sing lullaby, Howells
Topic: grace notes

Every musician has that set of songs that feels as though it was born for him/her.  For me, it is the music of the English church.  Sounds so terribly WASP-y of me, but I can't help it.  England is in my blood, in my maiden name, and in my musician's olde soul. 

There is a haunting in the hollow and rounded choral harmonies from the likes of Vaughan Williams, Byrd, Rutter, Tavener.  Something awakens in me at the sound; it is a calling home.  It is certain to me that, on the moment of my death, I will ascend in a veil of Latin text set to a glorious Anglican eight-part harmony.  With that as my last known thought in this world, what could I possibly have to fear?

(And if I wind up in Hell - hey, you never know - undoubtedly I will be greeted by either an off-key concertina or else a saxophone.  But let's not give the devil any ideas...)

How to Sing Opera: A Primer
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: grace notes

Start with a name like Giovanni, Julieta, Elinor, Pasquale, or Armand.  People named Joe, Billy Bob, or MaKenna don't have opera singer names.

Get in practice for singing recitatives by adding a loose melody to everything you say.  Reptitions are recommended.  Example:  "What's for supper?  Supper?  SUP-per!  I think it shall be chicken alfredo!  Delightful, delicious Ah-ah-ahl-FRE-do!  Alfredo?  Yes!  Alfredo!"

Make sure you sing about jealous lovers, including a few gasps and dramatic "Ah!  My life is a sham!" type lines.  Before you end, your aria should have a long-sustained high note.  Contrary to popular belief, glass will probably not break.  Your neighbors' tolerance, however, just might.

Include at least one passage with those rapid, head-spinning sixteenth notes.  "Deedle-deedle-ee-dee" is not acceptable opera singing.

Much opera singing is done in either Italian or German, so if you don't know any, fake it with words like "Spaghetti" or "Gesundheit."  Generally, opera is not sung in Pig Latin or American Sign Language.

If you are a man, you must dress in a tuxedo or else frilly knickers and stockings.  Women may wear either wide, bustled period-style gown with petticoats or a wide, bustled modern gown with puffy sleeves.  Much bosom must be exposed.  If you have a petite or willowy figure, stick to Rock-n-Roll. 

To strike a proper opera attitude, you must think of yourself as the center of attention, no matter the role or even if you're just getting groceries.  Then again, opera singers don't get groceries; they purchase wine and art.  And if you get groceries at Wal Mart, just give up now:  You will never be an opera singer. 

Places to sing opera include Sydney, New York, and Paris.  If you're in North Dakota, Arkansas, or Albuquerque, you shouldn't sing opera.  Other places NOT to sing opera:  Greyhound buses, McDonald's, Wal Mart, jail, small apartments.  Unless, of course, you're in the shower of your small apartment.  The shower is a great place to sing opera.

Can you sing opera?

Yes, if:
-you have a wine collection
-you own prize show dogs or race horses
-you drive a Lexus
-your piano is a grand

No, if:
-you have a beer bottle collection
-you own prize 4-H fair cattle
-you drive a pick-up truck (ANY make)
-your piano is out of tune or in any way involves a crank

If your death involves a broken heart, mistaken identity, or murderous royalty, you've died an opera death.  Diabetic shock, ruptured spleen, and being run over by a bus are NOT opera deaths.

Opera singers may be accompanied by the following musical instruments: 
-harpsichord
-viola
-timpani
-oboe

The following are NOT opera instruments:
-harmonica
-slide guitar
-synthesizer
-kazoo

Now!  You're all ready to be an opera singer.  Unless, of course, you get your vocal instruction from reading personal blogs.

---

Yes, I made this up.  But the idea is not original (I got the idea from an essay on singing Blues).  As I'm a legitimate voice coach in the classical style, this felt appropriate from me.  Have fun.

 

A Carol of the Bells
Mood:  silly
Topic: grace notes
This could fall under the category of "you had to be there," but I'll tell it anyway.

Last night at bells, I filled in E5-D5. Very busy spot. The song we were playing was a rendition of Joplin's "Solace." Very busy song. On the last page, I was frantically trying to play AND direct. We were using mallets. On a vigorous upswing, my mallet flew out of my hand, sailed backward over my head, across the room, and landed in someone's grocery bag.

The song stopped when the puzzled look came across my face. Because everyone was laughing.

Anyone who thinks playing handbells is boring has never been a part of some of the groups with which I've played. I have many fond memories that were created from bells rehearsals. There was the audition for the college group in which I pointed out the student directors' mistakes (they decided to keep me). There was the CUMC ringers' Christmas dinner whence came the joke "Tickle Me Amy." And there was the time I put my car in the ditch picking my nephew up for rehearsal. There were countless times my kids tagged along and were mesmerized by the songs - or became the source of entertainment themselves.

I don't remember how I fell into knowing how to play bells. But I'm grateful that there's something about the bright sound of those bells that somehow releases the even brighter sound of laughter.

Getting my groove back
Mood:  on fire
Topic: grace notes
For the last several months, my light has been flickering in regards to the choir I lead. Usually something I plan with feverish eagerness and lead with enthusiasm, my 6th year with the group started feeling like...work. Some of it has been the group, no doubt: absenteeism, illness, bad attitudes. But perhaps the worst attitude has been mine.

The group has sounded just fine; we've gotten all kinds of positive feedback from listeners. And I confess I usually look at these commenders with a look of surprise. Really? We sound good? Hadn't noticed.

But since when has "just fine" been good enough?

This week I came to terms with the probability that the problem was mine. So for last night's rehearsal, I stepped it up a notch. In other words, I gave a crap. It worked. The group felt it, and so did I. And it was catching: The more energy I put into the music, the more they gave back, and we continued to feed off each other until a number of us had goosebumps.

Leaders of the world, take note: Your followers respond to you. If you treat them like dummies, they'll act dumb. If you believe they can do it, and take the time to show them how, your world just may well sing in sweet harmony.

And as for you Mr. President, if you're eavesdropping (which of course is legal for you to do), you may be interested to know that I don't trust you either.

On Leaving One's Imprint
Mood:  special
Topic: grace notes
I started this blog entry on Thursday...and then the flu struck, so forgive the lapse. Why is it an 8-hour bug for everyone else, and a 24-hour bug for me? Oh, could that be because EVERYONE ELSE GETS TO SLEEP when they're sick?

What tripped my trigger this week was voice lessons. I've been teaching one student for three years, the other for about two. Once a week for a half-hour, we gather by the piano; they sing, I suggest. It doesn't seem like much.

This week it happened to culminate two-fold into something very satisfying.

One of my students is in a band, i.e. rock-and-roll. And country music. I know. When he first came to me, he was struggling with intonation. The source turned out not to be his ear, but his approach. His birthday was last week, and at Wednesday's lesson he brought to me the gift that his band gave him: A c.d. full of songs in which he sings the lead, and a cover subtitle that indicated his band has been noticing his improvements. He and I listened through portions of the c.d. together, and he sounded terrific.

Another student is putting together a voice recital. He's tackling some challenging music - foreign languages, melismas, high tessituras. And he's accomplishing them. At the end of this week's lesson, he confided that the two years of voice lessons have been one of the best things he ever did. He's having a ball.

Now. Is it not everyone's wish in life to feel like they make a difference, even a little one? I'm sounding like I'm patting myself on the back a bit, sure, but it IS my blog. I want to remember this. Because I'm so proud of them. And if ever I go through a time (and they will come) where my work feels purposeless, I want to conjure up that look on Bob's face while we played his c.d., and I want to see Bill standing in my doorway, telling me he loves to sing.

Holy Day
Mood:  incredulous
Topic: grace notes
My feet are up. I've made it.

The kids have an exclamation for things of surprising greatness or proportion: "Holy."

I'm sure it is a take-off from the Batman-esque traditional phrases of "Holy Moly" or "Holy Cow." "Holy" phrases have also taken various forms in our households, including -Crap, -Crapola, and of course -Shit. Poop, it would seem, is a central theme of our vocabulary.

But mostly the kids just say "Holy." And I'm starting to get off the point. This was about my day. It was a "Holy."

The choir's Christmas program was this morning. Twice. It went very well, I'm happy to report. Sure, our soloist almost fainted. Sure, I came home with a mountain of choir robes to launder. Sure, "Angels We Have Heard On High" nearly ended in a train wreck. (But it didn't. Whew.) Yet here I stand, a job well done. Check.

From church, Jason and I herded our children into separate vehicles. Hunter came with me; we parked at the theater and walked downtown to The Acoustic for sandwiches, where we were unexpectedly joined by two members of the "Amahl" sheperds' chorus. Alex and Andy are 18 and 20. The conversation quickly turned to PS2. Hunter was fine with that.

After lunch we walked back to the theater where I transformed myself into a shepherdess for the last of seven "Amahl" performances this month. Hunter tagged along in the make-up room, and in the gallery where we gathered for warm-up, until I escorted him to the seating area and left him in the care of an usher.

Downstairs, the mood was heartily saccharine; after three months together, our group had formed a bit of a close community, and gratitude and flattery were flowing like warm syrup. The gallery carpet is likely stained from so much ooze.

The performance went swimmingly. I had a heck of a time locating Hunter's ticketed seat, thinking No. 12 was to the stage right when it was in fact left. And so through the closing Christmas carols (yes, Christmas carols; this is Menomonie, birthplace of gaggy schlock) my expression was, no doubt, one of a worried mother trying to look like anything but a worried mother. At the show's close, the lights came up, and a familiar black-checked sweater vest stood up, and I breathed a sigh of recognition.

There were photos to be taken. There was a set to come down. There were costumes to be sorted. The show was done at last. Check. We got home as sun was setting. Hunter was happy as a lark.

At home, Audrey had been primping. She knew she was to be my date for the cast party. And so with glitter on our faces and hot dish in hand, away we went.

At Friday night's performance, Audrey was particularly taken by the kings (Hello. Royalty.) That night she was thrilled to meet the tenor who played King Kaspar after the show. Tonight at the party, Audrey and I were picnicking on the floor when Kaspar walked by. Audrey said, "I just saw someone I know." I was ditched for the company of a king. So Kaspar has a four-year-old groupie.

After the potluck we watched a taping (probably illegal) of the performance. Audrey was again sucked in to the world of Amahl. Not surprisingly, she wanted to know which actors at the party played kings. When bedtime approached, Audrey didn't want to go. But go we must, and we did.

For a treat I got the sofa sleeper out for the kids ("Motel Night" in the living room). While we gathered sheets and pillows, Hunter and Audrey sang lines from "Amahl."

As I type, three kids are asleep, and I'm in my jammies. Dear Reader, you too may be asleep after this diatribe. My apologies. I want to remember it all. Here I sit, on the "made it" side of a fabulous day that combined my favorite stuff - music - with my favorite people - my kids.

If dreams do indeed come true, someday I may be sitting in my jammies, writing about the day my kids were in a great show: Audrey on stage, Hunter in the orchestra pit, and Tobey...I'm not sure yet. Perhaps he'll be a king.

As for today, I'm beat. I made it, 15 hours on the go from start to finish.

Holy.

Amahl and the Night Rehearsals
Mood:  rushed
Topic: grace notes
Another day, another rehearsal. The Menomonie Theater Guild is putting on a production of Gian-Carlo Menotti's "Amahl and the Night Visitors." Opening night is December 2. I play a shepherd. A singing shepherd. It's not a big role, and I'm increasingly grateful that it's not any bigger than it is.

The people on the set are actually pretty fun, and while I'm not exactly musically challenged, I do get to help lead sectionals occasionally. And I've even handed out a business card or two to promote my voice lessons. (Yes, I have business cards, but just barely.) The hard part, not surprisingly, is making my family function without its director for the better part of most evenings and weekends through the next month.

At any rate, rehearsal for the day is over, and I'm sipping away on my maragarita. Beats the hell out of that shepherds' goat cheese.

(Note: I noticed an embarassing spelling error in the Mysterium blog. "Englebert" was supposed to be "Engleberg." What can I say, I lead a distracted life. What can I say, I lead a distracted life.)